The end of August everywhere
And yet so many different Augusts
Too early for purple asters here
And too late for cascading stars
I think of her crossing Nevsky Prospect
In the fifth month of her pregnancy
With the daughter who would die
Of hunger before that permanently
Wary gaze had settled in her eyes
I think of her fastened to the earth
And still pacing Nevsky Prospect
A little August Russian doll
Waving her frightening poems
Sticking to her promise
To bring down those pretty domes
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